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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28279338">Fog of War, Mist of Memories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailingOnSunnySkies/pseuds/SailingOnSunnySkies'>SailingOnSunnySkies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But not specific to the Whedon version or the Snyder version of JL, F/M, Modern Fic, Some angst, Wonder Trev Secret Santa 2020, a bunch of action, but a happy ending/reunion, some drama, takes place after 'Justice League', wondertrev</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:34:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,096</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28279338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailingOnSunnySkies/pseuds/SailingOnSunnySkies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold, misty drive to Trevor Ranch, Diana finds herself caught in a bizarre accident that has her trapped in a memory she'd rather not revisit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fog of War, Mist of Memories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My first attempt at a WonderTrev story for the WonderTrev Secret Santa (2020) over on tumblr. I wrote something for <strong>runningandnotslowingdown</strong> (Taylor) that will hopefully tick off the boxes for <em>"action-packed angst that ends with fluff"</em>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span class="u">Fog of War, Mist of Memories</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>'...Misty watercolored meeeemoriiiiies, of the waaaay we weeere.'</em>
</p><p>Diana turned the volume down on her rental car's radio. Not enough to ignore completely but just enough to serve as background music during the long drive. That is until the eventual pattering rain finally decided to come down and drown out the ballads. There had been steady winds and a gray settling of cold and gloom. Considering it was December, she was grateful there wasn't anything worse but the weather had her thinking about England, of all places. A country she didn't visit as often as the Southern US, though the reason as to why she made a special trip to one place and avoided the other happened to be the same.</p><p>She sighed as she hit a cluster of cars that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Perhaps she should've "flown in" as Barry had joked to her a while back (the fog would've provided cover) but when she made the trek to Trevor Ranch, she liked to take a rental from the airport, imagining the route traveled a hundred years ago by him. By Steve. He drove these roads once, when he was younger and more carefree. Took these roads straight to the enlistment offices that would give him an opportunity to get behind the wheel of something a little bigger than his father's beloved, worn Ford. She looked up at the gray clouds and saw the shadow of a plane high above.</p><p>"What would you say if you were sitting here beside me?"</p><p>A soft rumble answered her but still no rain.</p><p>She answered her own question, "You would probably be driving. I always preferred watching the scenery."</p><p>
  <em>'Riiiing'</em>
</p><p>She chanced a look at her mounted cell phone and saw the familiar name of Bruce Wayne, a man she had become familiar with over the past couple of months. He knew she was in the country but he didn't make it a habit of calling her regularly. She debated answering her cell, saw the traffic was holding steady, and opted to put him on speakerphone.</p><p>"I'm on the road."</p><p>"Headed to the ranch?"</p><p>Diana frowned and looked at the phone as if he could see her face. Knowing him, he could probably guess she was displeased. He only knew she was traveling to America on vacation. She never told him what she did or where she went. How a mere mortal man could get so much information about her was equal parts impressive and infuriating. She had never doubted her inconspicuous carefulness until she met Bruce. But then she had never met anyone as hard-headed and obsessive as him.</p><p>"Why are you calling?"</p><p>"I've just received some information from a source. Something I'm passing along to every member. 'Anomolous energies are on the horizon'."</p><p>"Am I to understand those were your source's exact words?"</p><p>"They were."</p><p>"What sort of energies? Something like the mother boxes? Like what happened in Midway City?"</p><p>"I can't say any more than that. Just that something has been found. Something small with potential for more. I'd like you to come to Gotham after your trip so we can talk in person."</p><p>Another frown. Though the line was secure, he never liked to be too specific on the phone. She was tempted to decline, just to spite him. He could send a message to Barry and have him find her. Or maybe even Clark. He was just one state away, visiting his mother.</p><p>Instead she asked, "Can you at least tell me who this source is supposed to be? Someone trusted?"</p><p>"Not a government official," he hedged. She knew a little about a woman named Amanda Waller. Or rather, Clark found out and passed the information along to her.</p><p>The long pause seemed to be motivating enough for Bruce to elaborate, "I can... source... a doctor of fate."</p><p>She blinked a few times and had to look back up at the road, moving ahead as they cleared the quick traffic jam. The signal cut out and she wasn't sure if she heard him right. Did he mean a doctor of faith? Like a faith healer?</p><p>"Can you repeat that?"</p><p>"Di... can... hear...?"</p><p>She called his name a few times, even took her phone and brought it to her ear but the clouds and mists seemed dead-set on dampening her connection to the world outside that long stretch of highway. Her attention was off the road for a few seconds but that was all it took before everything went horribly wrong.</p><p>Her car came to a sudden, jerky stop. There was long moment of stillness where her senses were telling her something was wrong. She looked out the window and saw she was half a mile above the road in a floating car. And she wasn't alone. Several cars along the hallway were floating up. Some were falling. People were screaming. She had enough sense to unbuckle her seatbelt and open the door before the car flipped upside down and dropped in a thunderous crash of metal and glass. She practically spun around in a circle in her attempt to get into costume. Precious seconds where she should be running to pull injured people out of wreckage. Precious seconds wasted where she could've done something to save <em>him</em>... No. Not today.</p><p>She was out and running, tearing out doors and flipping over cars to get to the people inside. Crying children clung to her, teenagers moaned in bloodied confusion. The screaming was preferable to the still, pale silence of a few drivers in smaller cars that did not survive the strange falls. A man in a sturdy jeep had managed to crawl out and simply stared at her, shell-shocked. He fumbled through his pockets and seemed to find something. A phone.</p><p>She immediately barked, "Call an ambulance!"</p><p>The man looked around, confused but thankfully seemed to realize what she was asking and made the call.</p><p>A loud, blaring horn got her attention. Barrelling down the highway, littered with wrecked cars and wounded passengers, came a long-haul truck. It wasn't slowing down and as she ran towards the truck, she could see the terrified look on the trucker's face. The trucker jerked his wheel around, trying to steer towards any other direction except straight ahead. She couldn't use too much force and risk crumpling in the cab. Leaping over to the side, she guided the truck over the railings and onto the grass and trees away from the roads. Even so the truck did not lose momentum. Not until it crashed into an old barn a good mile away.</p><p>There was a shower of wood and metal that blinded her. Dust and dirt had blown up, choking her. Jagged little pieces dug into her exposed arms and legs. Though her skin was especially strong, it still hurt. Her brief loss of senses had her a little more jerky and frenetic and she dug herself out from under the debris. Shaking off the bits of building from her face and taking in a few deep breaths, she turned to look for the driver. He was already hauling himself out. The truck's cab was a lot sturdier than she gave it credit for considering he didn't seem to have more than a bruise on his forehead.</p><p>"Are you alright?"</p><p>The truck driver nodded before looking around and settling his eyes on something. She turned to see what caught his attention and her stomach dropped. Half buried under wooden slats and a metal beam was a small body, face down. She practically leapt over to this child, hoping it was a scarecrow or a mannequin because what would a child be doing in an abandoned barn? With the scraps of wood cleared, she saw the wild, disheveled hair, the long black shirt, and the dark gray slacks. Her hand felt the solid flesh under the torn clothes and she was hoping for a pulse. Suddenly the child's hand shot up and gripped her wrist surprisingly hard.</p><p>She jerked back and felt something slam into the back of her head. Whether it was a piece of half-hanging rebar that swung down or some kind of attack from behind, she wasn't sure. A few seconds were lost to her ‒ she must have grayed out. But when she finally focused and got her bearings, she saw that she wasn't in the middle of a rubble-strewn field, a leap and bound away from a highway. No gray, mid-morning skies or crumpled truck behind her. The droning of a plane in the distance clicked everything into place. She was back there. On that airship hanger. Back in 1918.</p><p>Her adrenaline spiked as she looked around, half expecting to be blindsided by Ares. Instead there was a figure in the distance, soundlessly walking towards her. The long white coat an immediate identifier before the figure was close enough to see. Doctor Poison herself. And she was not alone. Several soldiers flanked the lone female doctor, their gas masks giving them an ominous presence. The doctor was saying something but there was no sound except for that droning propeller in the distance. The plane hasn't left yet which means he's still...</p><p>"Ooof!"</p><p>Diana cursed herself for getting distracted and allowing one of those soldiers to tackle her to the ground. Quickly shoving him off, she got to her feet and steadied her stance. She had dreamt of this night many times, in many different ways. This gaggle of gas-masked figures seemed to be a new variation on an old nightmare. And that's what this had to be. A dream her unconscious self was having after being hit in the back of the head. The soldier she pushed away tried for another head-on tackle but she was ready for him. She easily tossed him aside, and dispatched the oncoming wave of masked figures in much the same way. She tried to plead with them to stop fighting. It would be easy to use her strength to take down these boys but she had saved them once before. She would never stop trying to save innocent people even in some bizarre concussed dream.</p><p>She looked around for something, for <em>someone</em>, to try and help her. When she turned back, she saw Doctor Poison. Her mask was gone.</p><p>"What...?"</p><p>The face of the doctor seemed to flicker from that of the scarred criminal and the haunted woman with a whole face. But the whole face seemed muted. Like a photo. She waited for some kind of attack. The chemist simply turned to look off into the distance. Diana hesitated for a second before she followed the woman's gaze. And that's when she finally saw him. His jacket fluttering in the wind as he ran towards his fate. To take the final drive on that tarmac road up into the sky before shattering into a million pieces of metal and fire and death.</p><p>"No!"</p><p>Every iteration of this memory, of this horrible dream, had always ended the same. Always trying to save him but never able to run fast enough or jump high enough to reach that plane. Even so, she had to try again, even as her gut churned and her heart ached. She grabbed his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks at the tip of the lower wing. Her surprise must've mirrored his own.</p><p>"Steve," she breathed out before pulling him in and holding him close. She would not let him go. She would find a way to make things right.</p><p>He struggled in her grip before pulling free and for a moment she was afraid he would give her some kind of impassioned speech about sacrifice and selflessness and saving the world.</p><p>"What are you doing?" He stepped back several paces from her reach.</p><p>"I can't let you go," she told him, hoping he would listen and understand. "I can stop the gas. I can handle the explosion. I can save everyone!"</p><p>"You couldn't even save me."</p><p>The distance between them felt colder.</p><p>"I don't... I tried!"</p><p>"You failed. You let me get on that plane. Didn't even try to stop me. I waited for you to come in and pull off a big rescue. Instead you just watched me burn alive. It should have been you." His eyes narrowed and his mouth curled downwards. He was looking at her with contempt. With hatred. And she deserved everything he said.</p><p>"I... I'm sorry," she whispered, pleading for him to understand.</p><p>"Sorry isn't good enough. You miserable excuse of a little girl. Preaching strength and love when you weren't strong enough to save me? Pathetic."</p><p>"Please, I-"</p><p>"I don't want to hear your damn begging. Did you even love me?"</p><p>"Of course I did!"</p><p>"Well, I never loved you. Girls like you are only good for one thing and I got it before I blew up. Not worth dying, in my opinion. No piece is, not matter how hot."</p><p>She reared back as if he had slapped her. A horrifying flash of humiliated heartbreak. But then his face also flashed, briefly. The shaking, pale, disheveled pilot on the tarmac looked like the posed, clean shaven soldier in the photo she kept on her mantle.</p><p><em>It's not him</em>.</p><p>She might have caught it earlier if her own guilt hadn't been eating at her, echoing his words even as they got ugly and cruel. But she can see it now. The differences. The dark, beadiness of his eyes. The way his voice had an odd rasp at the tail end of each word. The way he held himself, hunched over, ever so slightly. And even the medals on his stolen uniform were wrong. Fury burned away her shame as she pulled out her lasso. The dark specter of her lost love seemed to realize something was wrong and quickly turned to run. She would've gotten hold of him if those masked soldiers didn't pop up and surround her. They were no more real than that false vision of Steve. And she wasn't going to hold back this time. She put all her force into a kick that went through the chest of a wiry man with several blank medals on his frayed lapel. The soldier broke apart into mist and fog.</p><p>With renewed determination, she landed several blows through these faceless minions. From the mists came more figures but they weren't in any sort of uniform. They were the sunken-eyed villagers of Veld. Men, women, and children. That has her pause. They yelled at her in garbled words that she couldn't quite make out. It sounded like English. But none of them spoke that language in Belgium. They were poor recreations but they were no less menacing. She had her hand on her sword, only willing to use it as a last resort, a part of her, even now, still not wanting to hurt the innocent people she had failed to save so long ago.</p><p>
  <em>"Horrible!"</em><br/>
<br/>
<em>"Failure!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Useless!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Murderer!"</em>
</p><p>Their words washed over her like a banshee's final call before imminent death. Her sword was unsheathed and she spotted a figure, half hidden behind an elderly couple who loved to sway. She darted forward, landed a kick into a barrel-chested man and with deft quickness jabbed her sword left, slicing clean through her intended target.</p><p>"AAAAHHHHH!"</p><p>The small figure with a long black jacket, dark gray pants, and disheveled hair looked up at her in shock. Her sword went straight through his shoulder. The villagers coalesced into mist and Diana would not waste any more time. She wrapped her lasso around him. Not the child amidst the barn rubble near a southern US highway. But a short man who looked out of place in a tarmac in Belgium.</p><p>"I compel you to tell me the truth! Who are you and why are you doing this?"</p><p>The cold, beady eyed sneer that had previous looked foreign on Steve's face, or a vision of him, fit this man perfectly.</p><p>"Stupid little-" He grunted as he tried to resist the lasso but it was futile. "I'm Edgar Cizko. And I'm doing this... to teach you a lesson."</p><p>"What lesson?" She tightened the lasso and took no small pleasure in hearing him groan in pain as her sword jiggled in his shoulder.</p><p>"You, ugh, always running around like a damn hero. I've watched the news and seen what you claim to stand for. Wonder Woman. <em>Ugh</em>. There is nothing wondrous about women. They're weak-willed and weak-bodied. They're manipulative liars. They're only good for one thing." Another groan as she jerked the lasso forward and had him stumble in his step.</p><p>"I h-had the power... to <em>break</em> you. Without even touching you. With just words. Because that's how stupid and emotional you little girls are!"</p><p>She managed a huff, "You're calling <em>me</em> little?"</p><p>Before she could walk over to him, he reared his head back and let out a yell that seemed to rock the foundation of the world they were in. She went flying back, her lasso having slipped from her hand. She scrambled to get to it and found hundreds of masked soldiers running for her. Tanks and planes were levitating behind them and she realized the extent of that small man's damage and reach.</p><p>There was no point in fighting them all. The stampeding footsteps behind her kept drifting in and out like static. She pushed herself to go as far and as fast as she could and she finally broke through the Belgian fog. She was back in the United States. Looking around, she realized she was at her destination, if only by accident. She was at Trevor Ranch. And her car and possessions were a hundred miles away. A rustling and a shadow in the distance had her pause.</p><p>She didn't know much about that psychotic Edgar Cizko but it seemed his powers were some form of mental manipulation and telekinesis. All those memories he made real were from her subconscious. And if he could see enough of that awful night a hundred years ago to recreate it, he could have seen other memories of hers. Things about her past. About who she really was. About the people she cared about and the man she loved. She refused to let him disrespect Steve's family home. Not after what he did to Steve back at the tarmac. How he wore Steve's face like an ill-fitting mask and said those things to her. Things she almost believed. She vowed to permanently wipe that cold, beady-eyed smirk off his face.</p><p>With quick, sure steps, she was inside the main house. Her boots thudded loudly, making her presence known, but she was too angry to care about stealth. Let him know she was looking for him. The living room was empty. The kitchen was tidy and mostly bare. She rounded back to head to the stairs when she saw someone walk in through the hallway. Her sword swung up, ready to attack.</p><p>"Diana..."</p><p>Steve Trevor stood before her. In a rumpled white shirt and loose, frayed jeans that had been tucked away in some corner of a bedroom dresser. The old leather sandals on his feet belonged to his father, worn and creased from age. She tightened her grip and took a step forward. He didn't move. He wasn't shocked at being caught. He wasn't angry at her audacity. Something in his expression had her pause. His arms were up in a placating gesture and she waited, watching cautiously for what he would do.</p><p>"Diana... it's me. I'm not sure if I look any different..." He glanced down at his hands unbothered by the sword she held pointed at him.</p><p>"How? How do I know it's really you?" She found herself asking, trying to take in what he said, and comparing it to the hateful, half-formed facsimile of earlier.</p><p>He met her eyes and carefully stepped toward her, arms lowering. His eyes never wavered even as the sword in her shaking hands did. His hand found her wrist and gently pushed the sword down. His left hand glanced against the side of her thigh and she shivered before registering he was wrapping her lasso around his hand. It was a testament to her shock that she didn't think to use that earlier.</p><p>"My name is Steve Trevor. I was a captain for the U.S Army. We fought together in Belgium. In Washington. You saved me. You saved the world. I don't know where I am or what happened but I do know that as long as you're here, nothing else matters. Diana, I love-"</p><p>He didn't get a chance to finish. He didn't need to. She saw the conviction in his eyes and heard the sincerity in his voice. It was him. Her Steve. No half-formed illusion or twisted memory could even come close. The sword was forgotten and she wrapped her arms around him, a fist in his shirt and an arm hooked around his neck to pull him into a crushing kiss, pouring into it all her longing and passion. He fumbled a little trying to extract his left hand from the lasso but he was just as enthusiastically kissing her back. One hand found the small of her back and the other flitted around, grabbing at her waist, stroking up the curve of her spine, before deciding to tangle itself in her hair. He pressed her close to him, lips firmly slotted against his, not willing to give her a chance to pull away. As if she would ever want to leave his embrace. As if she would dare let anyone or anything separate them again.</p><p>"Diana?"</p><p>Perhaps she spoke too soon.</p><p>With no small amount of dismay, she pulled back and turned to see a familiar face at the front door. From the corner of her eye, she could see Steve shake off the love-struck muzziness of their reunion, his hackles raised and arms curled. Of course, he had no idea it wouldn't do any good but she supposed it was the thought that counted. Diana let herself smile thinking Steve may be more upset and willing to throw punches at the thought of being interrupted than wanting to defend her from the surprisingly imposing man in the full body blue uniform and red cape.</p><p>"Clark."</p><p>"You, uh, lost contact with a <em>certain someone</em> who sent me to look for you. He tracked a surge of energy and I was told to check this area. Umm, are you okay?"</p><p>She turned to give Steve a fond smile and reassuring shoulder squeeze. Superman was not an enemy. Though he did have poor timing.</p><p>"I'm fine. But my car and my phone have not fared as well. A car accident, of sorts," she was quick to cut off both men's concern and reiterated, "I am <em>fine</em>. I am not injured. But I can't say the same for a few other people caught in the accident. If you could check on them, I would appreciate it."</p><p>After she gave him general directions, he assured her he would check up on everyone caught up in the unnatural car accident and promised to keep an eye out for any short, wild-haired men with bleeding shoulders.</p><p>"Afterwards, I'll bring your car and we should probably talk about what exactly happened."</p><p>"Of course. Go," she directed him not unkindly but firmly.</p><p>"And take your time, big boy blue," Steve muttered quietly, meaning for Diana to hear.</p><p>Though judging by Superman's pause and quirk of his lips, the words didn't escape him. He left in a rush of air that had Steve surprised all over again. Steve actually ran out the door and looked around as if expecting to see the man of steel hiding behind a wall. She followed him, smile on her face, just taking in his expression. There would be a lot of explaining to him and to the members of the League. She wasn't sure how Steve was brought back to her. Perhaps it had something to do with the magical anomalies Bruce had mentioned earlier. But all that could wait. She slipped her hand into his and he turned to look at her. Surprise and confusion slipped away. She was the only thing that made sense to him in this world. Once again she drew him close and their focus was only on each other.</p><p>The fog had cleared and their future was as bright as the open skies above them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm not completely happy with that title. At first, I wanted a reference to 'Jekyll and Hyde' because I mentioned two Doctors in here, albeit indirectly; Doctor Psycho (the villain of the story), and Doctor Fate (who was Bruce's "anonymous" source). But then Doctor Poison snuck in there with her gas and fog, so I went with that theme for a title. I don't know if they plan on bringing in Doctor Psycho for a potential 3rd Wonder Woman movie, but if so, hopefully it's not too different from my characterization.</p><p>I wanted more fluff at the end but I'm terrible at romance despite my love of those kinds of stories. Maybe with more practice I'll get better. Let me know what you think. This was written as a one-shot before watching 'Wonder Woman 1984'. I suppose it has potential for expansion. I may revisit this after watching the Snyder-cut of 'Justice League'.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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